And I might mention many other
men who have experienced insult, some wronged by word, others by violence and
bodily harm, who do not appear to have defended their rights against their
assailants nor to have proceeded against them in any other way, but very meekly
bore their wrong.
If you are interested in hearing about those who
have only made a grand show of not being offended, I certainly can’t provide you
with that; that sort of display would defeat the whole purpose of bearing
wrong, and would instead turn it into an exercise of seeming the victim.
As much as I might try to lie to myself, I know my
own worst motives all too well. Why am I drawing attention to myself? Is it
really about being better, or even about being a witness to what is better, or is
it just about appearing
better to everyone else?
The intention makes so much of a difference.
I could, however, tell you about a boy I knew in Cub
Scouts, who liked collecting and drying flowers, and accordingly found himself
ridiculed at every turn. He never complained or cursed back. He would also
offer kind words to people, precisely when no one else was looking.
I sadly do not know what became of him, and I have
even forgotten his name.
I could tell you about another fellow I taught with
in the early years, who was committed to having his middle school students
learn about Euclid’s Elements. Some
of the children did not like the difficulty involved in these lessons,
especially the loud and spoiled ones, and before I knew it all the complaints
from irate parents had gotten him demoted to a desk job.
I eventually told him that I felt guilty for not supporting
him more, and I will never forget the generous way he shook his head and
smiled. “Hey, I did what I thought was right, and they did what they thought
was right.”
I could finally tell you about one of the janitors
at a local church, a burly and jovial man who made it a point to bring a cup of
hot coffee and a fresh donut to absolutely anyone who walked up to the rectory door.
The parish council did not approve, since they claimed it attracted that undesirable
element of poor and homeless folks.
After having worked there for a decade, the pastor
fired him. The last time I saw him, he winked at me. “I’ve never known a man to
be worse from a good cup of coffee!”
I often think of something my father told me long
ago, that “tolerating” doesn’t mean stubbornly or begrudgingly putting up with
something we don’t like, but that it means taking the weight of others upon
ourselves, to literally bear or carry them. He knew his Latin, so I could
hardly object.
“He ain’t heavy. He’s my brother.”
Your own mileage may certainly vary, but my father
also reminded me that this was exactly what Christ did when he was burdened by hauling
his own Cross.
Some would insist that turning the other cheek is a
sign of weakness, of not standing up for what we want.
Perhaps it could also be a sign of strength, of caring
with such depth that we can find meaning in how we accept the wrongs of others for
ourselves, of finding a way to transform that hatred into love.
Perhaps by trying to be the best that we can be, we
can also inspire others to be the best that they can be.
Dictionaries may define Stoicism as being unemotional,
and they may define meekness as being submissive. That is unfortunate.
Written in 10/1999
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